


Happy Christmas, John Watson

by itsybitsyish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Baby, Christmas, Fluff, Fun, Gifts, Holiday, M/M, Seasonal, Shopping, Short, light - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-17 09:03:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13073613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsybitsyish/pseuds/itsybitsyish
Summary: Sherlock goes shopping for just the right gifts for all of his friends, despite hating the shops.  But, for John, the best gift he'll give is not found in stores.





	Happy Christmas, John Watson

Shopping centers were usually rather annoying to Sherlock, but at Christmas time this was more than doubly so; the uncouth and harried crowds, the incessant and repetitive holiday music which assaulted his eardrums, and the insistant jangling bells of a certain 'charitable' non-military organisation's beggars did not warm him to the chore.

However, as he had yet to do his holiday shopping, to the shops he had to go.  
Why had he waited so long? It was nearly Christmas, and here he was having to shop for John, Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Lestrade, his parents and his brother.  
Not that he knew what to buy, of course... Sherlock often seemed to pick out either too wrong of an item or too right.

Two years past, he had decided upon an escort for Lestrade considering that it had been evident that all the detective inspector had wanted for months was sex.  
Not that this had been appreciated one iota. In fact, Lestrade had been furious with him.  
Sherlock had explained his reasoning behind the gift, but Lestrade was having none of it and had all but ignored him for a good six weeks afterward.  
Perhaps this year, Sherlock would give him a subscription to a fruit of the month club or some such rubbish. He did like fruit, at least. Lestrade couldn't complain and overreact about that.

As he strolled past a man dressed as Saint Nicholas sitting on an oversized green chair, Sherlock watched for a moment as a young girl climbed up onto his lap.  
It served to remind him of the conversations that he and John had been having; Rosie was nearly three now, and John thought it would be grand for her to have a little brother or sister.

Now, Sherlock had come to adore Rosie as much as if she had actually been his, but having another child at home would take away even more precious time from his work; while Rosie was precious to him, he did regret the hours she took away from him.  
John swore up and down that he would do most of the work, but that didn't help much when he needed John on his cases.  
He just couldn't function properly anymore without his assistant.

Sherlock sighed as he looked past the scene, and continued on his way.

 

'Rosie, no...' John began softly but firmly as his curly-haired daughter gleefully reached into one of the boxes he'd brought out from storage and brandished a red glass bauble. 'No, Rosie, give that to me.'

He reached out for it, giving Rosie and encouraging look.  
Rosie looked up at him, a wide grin spreading across her chubby face. She giggled, thinking this the beginning of a delightful game.

'NO!' Rosie shouted, her eyes sparkling.  
She clutched the bauble to her small chest, her hands just able to get a decent grip on it.

'Come on, Rosie.' John told her, sounding slightly more stern.

Rosie glanced from the ornament to her father.

'That's right. Give it to me.' 

Rosie did her best to comply, trying to bounce it to him as she would if it were a ball, but it shattered into countless shards on the wooden floor.

John looked pained, before scolding her and picking her up off the floor and setting her in the playpen as he set to cleaning up the mess.

 

Meanwhile, Sherlock was wandering through the mens clothing section of a certain well-known department store beginning with 'H'.

John had a penchant for delighting in what he thought to be particularly hideous jumpers, and since a few of John's favourites had begin showing signs of serious wear and becoming even more unsightly, perhaps a new addition to his collection might persuade John to get rid of them.

A strangely patterned beige knit jumper caught his eye, and Sherlock instantly knew this was a 'John' jumper.  
He promptly found one in a medium size and set it in the trolley, finding another good gift for John across the way - a bottle of the cologne which John had used for as long as as Sherlock could recall but had been discontinued for years and had recently been revived; it was a light, peppery fragrance which suited John much more than the rank dreck he'd worn since.

Sherlock took two bottles of that, and was ready to pick out gifts for the next person on his list - Mrs. Hudson.

She was easy to shop for. Almost any gift made her happy, though Sherlock always endeavoured to suprise her. Mrs. Hudson was as family.  
Well, to be honest, she was actually closer to him than certain members of his family.

He knew just what he wanted to give Mrs. Hudson this year; a box of her favourite brandy cordials and a R.R. McSeaman's latest novel 'Descendants Of The Mountain'.

Actually, Sherlock was more or less sure of what he wanted to get for everyone except for Lestrade.  
That man had always proven difficult to shop for.  
In the end, he had, in fact, settled on a subscription to a fruit of the month club.

 

Another two hours had passed, and Sherlock had finally made his way back to 221 b Baker Street.

He was greeted with 'What took you so long?'

Sherlock wanted to give John a withering look for this, but settled on sighing tiredly and setting all his shopping down with a bit more drama than was needed.

'Rough, was it?' John asked, clicking his tongue sympathetically. 'Tell you what, go sit down and I'll make you a nice cup of hot chocolate. But, be quiet, Rosie's gone down early for the night.'

Sherlock smiled almost imperceptively, as he slid off his shoes and hung his jacket, before settling down in his black mock leather chair.

He loved it when John made him homemade hot chocolate.  
It was always the perfect temperature, with a hint of ginger and cinnamon, a mound of whipped cream and chocolate curls on top. Sometimes, John would even bring a freshly baked biscuit to accompany the drink.

How he'd ever managed before John, he wasn't certain. 

 

It wasn't long before he was sipping contentedly away in front of the crackling fire.

'So, what did you get me, then?' Asked John, taking a taste of his own hot chocolate.

Sherlock smiled softly.  
He wasn't falling for that again; it had happened once or twice in the past that John had asked him that while half in thought and had told him outright just what he would be getting for Christmas.

But, he's suspected John would ask this, and had prepared a little something if he was right.  
Which, he'd fully expected to be. Of course.

Sherlock had thought of this a fortnight ago, having had considered gift shopping but thinking better of it. This was going to be perfect.

Without a word, he stood up and went over to his drawer in the kitchen (the one John never went into and held various items such as scalpals and tweezers for his experiments, pulling out a pale blue envelope.

He came over to John, sitting next to him on the sofa, and handed it over.

John raised a brow, wondering what was going on.

'What's this?' He asked curiously, turning the envelope over in his hands.

'Open it and find out.' Sherlock suggested, and John carefully tore his way into it.

John slid a paper out, unfolded it, and began reading.

It was a list of women's names, along with some minor details.

'Sorry, I'm confused, what is this?' John asked, looking at Sherlock with slightly narrowed eyes.

Sherlock had thought John would understand what he was looking at, but sometimes John didn't latch onto things as swiftly as might have been preferred.

'It's a list of potential surrogates.' Sherlock explained softly. 'We've talked it over and over, and while you were sure about wanting another baby, I needed time to consider things; it wasn't an easy decision, but you needed to know if I was interested in raising a second child and this is my answer.'

John swallowed, a lump forming in his throat.  
He'd thought perhaps Sherlock's lack of a definitive answer had meant that Rosie wasn't going to have a sibling. Had figured that it had been more or less a silent yet resounding 'no' on Sherlock's part.

'I... Wow...' John blinked, his heart beating faster. 'I mean, are you sure this is what you want?'

Sherlock took a moment to reconsider, and nodded. 'Entirely; while I take great pleasure in my work, you and Rosie have incrementally surpassed its importance. I've decided that as we are financially stable and ought to be for a number of years to come, I'll take only the odd case here and there.'

Sherlock looked very serious. 'The two of you are my family, and I'd do anything for you - I love you both more than I could ever say, and I know in my heart that I would love another baby just as much.'

John felt so happy he could have burst. He was lost for words, though there was no need for any more.

'Happy Christmas, John Watson.' Sherlock told him, leaning in close and kissing John softly.


End file.
